


A Trifling Friend Indeed

by coldcomfort



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gold Digger Stiles, Jealous Derek, M/M, Maybe a little resolved, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 03:48:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7602175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldcomfort/pseuds/coldcomfort
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Ah yes…and that’s the other thing. Peter’s pretty, young husband with the warm eyes and easy smile is a gold digger.<em></em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> In which Stiles only cares about Peter's money and Derek doesn't care about Stiles at all. Not even a little bit....</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm in the middle of writing a much longer fic and was getting stuck so took a couple of hours out to write something completely different in an effort to clear my head and this is the result. God knows where it came from.
> 
> The title is taken from Kanye West's Gold Digger because what else?
> 
> Chapter Two should be up in a few hours.

The paper in front of him is starting to blur, the intricate blue lines of his draft work so painstakingly applied now resembles little more than a huge, darkening bruise spreading across the paper.  
  
Derek rubs his temple, can feel a stress headache starting to build, tedious pain already starting to throb rhythmically at his pulse.  
  
He switches the bright desk lamp off, doubtfully hoping that the gloom of his room might help.  
  
An evening spent in peace and quiet with no distractions, that’s what he needs. This internship has been driving him crazy, the stress and workload makes his seven year degree look like a holiday.  
  
At least he doesn’t have the money worries some of his fellow interns have. When he’d realised the company he desperately wanted to work for solely offered ‘expenses only' internships he’d reluctantly called his uncle Peter.  
  
The Hale family base was firmly in New York, had been for generations and few ever migrated away. Peter however had made it his life’s work to be the exception to the rule.  
  
Nearly twenty years ago he’d set up a successful law practice in San Diego and never looked back. As his wealth had grown so had his distance from his family. He had always been the black sheep and most of his relatives seemed actively relieved that he no longer bothered to show his face at family gatherings, happy that they’d be spared his caustic wit and penchant for truth telling, no matter who it embarrassed.  
  
Derek was pretty much the only family member who’d stayed in close contact with Peter, probably the only one who thought him humorous and refreshing rather than rude and mean. Well to be honest he also thought him rude and mean but generally felt the positives outweighed the negatives. Mostly.  
  
One of the benefits to Derek had been luxurious (and free) accommodation only a half hour drive from his internship. The first couple of months in particular had been like a paradise with Peter away vacationing in Europe. Sadly things had changed dramatically since those heavenly, peaceful early days.  
  
By way of example, as soon as his aching head hits the cool, crisp bliss of his pillow, he hears his name shouted shrilly from the other end of the house.  
  
He groans and turns over onto his side, burying his face in the bedding. The shout is repeated a few times before the caller starts to get creative.  
  
He hears his name bleated like a sheep, sung like an operatic tenor and whined like a petulant two year old before he slams his hand against the bed, swings his legs onto the floor and storms from the room, his aching head swearing death to irritating teenage parasites.  
  
This particular parasite is the very reason why his peaceful first two months at Peter’s is now a very distant and wistful memory.  
  
He’d first heard word of his uncle’s highly unsuitable marriage in a phone call from his mother but it was during finals week and he could barely scrape together enough energy to wash himself and eat, let alone muster the energy required to fuel the fury his mother was radiating over this apparent ‘slut’ who’d crawled his way into her dear brother’s bed.  
  
In his sleep deprived state Derek had foolishly mentioned the fact that she’d barely spoken to her ‘dear’ brother in five years so why was she suddenly so interested, only to hear the dial tone by way of an answer.  
  
Of course this laid-back disinterest was before he had to share a house with the jumped up, insolent child his uncle had seen fit to marry.  
  
Stiles was brazen in his disrespect, not only to Derek but the entire Hale family, refusing to meet any of them and slamming the phone down on them whenever they tried to call, usually earning a kiss and a slap against his butt from Peter which Stiles returned with a contemptuous grin.  
  
He was also totally unashamed of his beauty, wielded it boldly to get his way constantly, took obvious pleasure in the power he had over Peter and yes, admittedly over Derek as well, after all he may loath the kid but he wasn’t blind.  
  
A widening of those huge brown eyes, a sway of those slim hips, a glance of that smooth, flawless skin was usually all it took to get them scrambling, falling over themselves to please him.  
  
And if that all failed he fell back on the kind of petulant, childish behaviour which had dragged Derek out of his bed this afternoon.  
  
Derek stormed down the landing past endless doors through the open one leading to his uncles’ upstairs sitting room. Looking about the luxurious room he saw no one. He knew Peter was out playing golf but the brat should be here somewhere.  
  
‘Where the hell are you?’ he yelled to the empty room. ‘In heerre’ a fractious voice whined in reply.  
  
Derek sighed and reluctantly wandered through into his uncles’ bedroom. There, splayed elegantly on the carpet is the source of his displeasure.  
  
An irritable frown upon his lovely face, delicate frame hunched in on itself, he’s clearly in the throws of one of his many tantrums. Frustratingly, as off putting and repulsive as this sight should be, Stiles still manages to look achingly beautiful.  
  
Derek has never felt so torn between wanting to throw someone across a room or gather them into his arms and kiss the life out of them.  
  
Managing to refrain from both options he instead applies himself to the problem at hand. ‘What are you shouting for? I was trying to take a nap.  Some of us actually have to work for a living and it takes it’s toll, though you wouldn’t know anything about that I suppose.’  
  
Stiles looks utterly unrepentant at the news that he’d roused Derek from his bed and narrows his eyes contemplatively. ‘Weeell, you know sometimes it takes your uncle ages to come so that can be pretty hard work.’ He rubs his jaw slowly to reinforce his point.  
  
Derek huffs and rolls his eyes to hide his embarrassment and to try and erase the sudden, filthy image of Stiles on his knees, those plush lips open and inviting.  
  
It never fails to shock and arouse him how someone who looks so lovely, so clean and sweet can behave so indecently. No one has ever confused him as much as the boy splayed out on the floor in front of him, gazing up brazenly under long lashes, a smirk on those pink lips.  
  
He _hates_ him, wants to hurt him, hold him down, put his hands all over him, kiss him hard and hot and….  
  
Derek shakes his head, stopping those thoughts abruptly, as he does every time they sneak sinuously into his mind. A frighteningly common occurrence lately and possibly an even more likely cause of his stress headaches than his internship.  
  
‘You need to help me’. Stiles flails his arms at the room in lieu of an actual explanation. Derek finally peels his eyes from Stiles to take in the disaster area that is now Peter’s bedroom.  
  
Dozens of glossy shopping bags from almost every high end luxury clothing brand in existence are scattered across the room. Clothes, most with a price tag higher than many peoples’ yearly salaries, have been pulled out and thrown across the floor, over the bed and the chaise long. Several dark velvet boxes emblazoned with Cartier and Harry Winston are also littered over the bed, their glittering, priceless contents spilling haphazardly across the silk covers.  
  
Ah yes…and that’s the other thing. Peter’s pretty, young husband with the warm eyes and easy smile is a gold digger.


	2. Chapter 2

_Ah yes…and that’s the other thing. Peter’s pretty, young husband with the warm eyes and easy smile is a gold digger._

 

It’s to be expected really, his uncle Peter is in his forties and whilst objectively Derek can see that he’s a handsome man for his age, he’s also difficult, temperamental and occasionally cruel. And alas like many middle aged men who’ve been single most of their lives he’s rigidly set in his ways and supremely bad tempered if made to change them.  
  
Nothing there to normally tempt a beautiful nineteen year old boy, glowing with youth and vitality. Nothing except deep pockets and a mutual desire to spoil and be spoilt.  
  
For the first couple of months Derek had lived in Peter’s home, he and his new husband had been cavorting round the Mediterranean on their honeymoon.  
  
Derek’s sudden and unexpected introduction to his new relation had taken place on a stiflingly hot June day. Exhausted after a long, sweaty day in the office, he hadn’t noticed the gleaming Jag sat on the driveway. Pulling at his tie, unbuttoning his shirt, he’d moved from the cool of the empty house back out into the heat of the deck, the cool of the azure pool setting it’s lure.  
  
He’d been completely thrown by the sight that had greeted him poolside. A slender boy stretched out on his front on a recliner. His pale, flawless skin slowly browning under the merciless California sun.   
  
His head is turned away but there’s something so artless and easy about him, a casual grace that has Derek captivated. That is until the boy speaks.  
  
‘Peter for fucks sake, I told you I’m too sore, how are you not dehydrated yet? Anyway your nephew’s gonna be home soon, don’t wanna give him a show do you?’  
  
‘I think you’re doing a pretty good job of that all by yourself’ Derek had answered, disgust warring with desire. A conflict he would come to know only too well in the ensuing months.  
  
The boy had rolled over onto his side at the sound of Derek’s voice, propping an arm under his head and grazing ravishing eyes sleepily over his body. A lazy, wicked smile had formed that spelt nothing but grief.  
  
‘Oh the nephew…well Peter left a lot out when describing you. Not really surprising, he doesn’t like competition. How are you at applying sun screen, I’ve missed a spot.’ With that he’d rolled back over onto his front, the smooth expanse of his back taunting Derek, the soft skin and sinewy muscles gleaming under the hot sun, making something within him ache with want.  
  
He’d immediately turned on his heel and marched through the house until he’d found his uncle sifting gloomily through correspondence in his study.  
Oh how he’d harangued and argued with his uncle over Stiles. That first time in the study and countless times since. Each time his passionate reasoning had fallen on deaf ears.  
  
Peter simply smiled smugly and annoyingly nodded along in agreement. Yes he had no doubt that Stiles was with him for his money, yes he was probably being manipulated, yes in many ways it was a sham of a marriage. However, his uncle would insist calmly, he was not the only one being manipulated.   
  
‘Both Stiles and I are putting our best assets into this relationship and taking out what we each need. In many ways it’s a far more equal and honest marriage than most.’  
  
Over time Derek had learnt that there was nothing to be gained by trying to open his uncles’ eyes to the situation, they were already wide open.  
  
He’d grudgingly come to accept the situation but that didn’t mean that he had to like it.  
  
He’d also learnt the brief background of Stiles’ life from his uncle. Orphaned young, in care for several years before running away at sixteen and carving a small, desperate life for himself in San Diego.  
  
Peter had met him in a coffee shop, he’d walked in just as Stiles was in the midst of being fired and walking out. Six weeks later they’d been married in a ceremony that Peter had alerted his family to in an eight word text sent as a limo had borne the newlyweds away to the airport for their honeymoon.  
  
A low pitched whine drags Derek back to the present. Stiles is glaring up at him, hands on his knees and mischief in his eyes.  
  
‘What do you want my help with? I’m not gonna help you clean the room if that’s it.’  
  
‘No dumbass. Peter has that party tonight at the Sheraton with the Spanish investors. He says I have to look my best and fuck knows what that is!’  
  
At this Stiles throws his hands up and slumps backwards crushing a Dior Homme bag beneath him.  
  
It’s partly this spoilt, bratty behaviour that helped to fuel Derek’s resentment of Stiles at the start but for a long time now he’s been able to see it for what it really is. Fear. Fear and an aching kind of vulnerability. Stiles is better at hiding it than anyone else he knows but occasionally it shows itself like a gaping, open wound and each time Derek is staggered by the strength of emotion it pulls from him.  
  
Derek hates seeing Stiles like that, so susceptible and unsure and he’s long realised that this is why he truly hates Peter and Stiles’ relationship so much, because his uncle can always pull this side out of Stiles. As charming as he is Peter has always preyed on the weakness in people, it’s what makes him such a good lawyer. He’s not interested in trying to understand his young husband, trying to help him, if he sees a flaw, a weakness, his first thought is how he can use it to his advantage.  
  
 This party being a case in point. He’s seen how nervous Stiles is at these awful, showy events, how much he dreads them and instead of reassuring the kid it amuses him to put the pressure on a little more each time, fussing about Stiles’ clothes, his hair, his manners until he’s a neurotic mess.   
  
It saddens Derek to helplessly sit by and watch it happen. He’s pretty sure Peter’s not even that aware of how much damage he’s doing, it’s just a game that happens to amuse him. However as indomitable as Stiles first appears, as perfect as the cocky, unscrupulous gold digger act is, that defenceless, tender skinned underbelly that Derek’s often snatched glimpses of tells him a different story. One of a hurt, confused, sweet, smart, annoying, frustrating, beautiful hellion who’s turned his life upside down in a matter of months.  
  
He wants Stiles. More than he can understand. It feels ingrained and out of his control, the want and need racing through his veins.  
  
And he wants every part of Stiles, not like his uncle who only wants his inviting smile, his seductive body, his insolent attitude. Derek wants those things too but he also craves the Stiles who snorts when he laughs, who tried to dig a tunnel under the driveway so the toads could cross safely and who’s staring up at him now with an indefinable look in his eyes.  
  
Derek moves across the room and crouches down beside him. Stiles is still sprawled on the floor but has propped himself up and is leaning back on his hands.  
  
This is the closest Derek’s ever been to him, he can see each mole flecked across his jaw and down his delicate neck. Can see his long, dark lashes against the pale skin, can feel his breath puffing out in warm bursts.  
  
He lifts his hand to cradle Stiles’ jaw, caressing it gently, rubbing his thumb softly across it.  
  
The expression in Stiles’ eyes has changed, for a brief moment shock flits across them, quickly transforming to something Derek could only describe as exposed.   
  
Stiles seems utterly stripped bare at this moment, so painfully open and vulnerable, radiating a yearning and longing that mirrors Derek’s own feelings so perfectly that he feels a rush of something that feels like triumph but which he’s sure is actually joy.  
  
‘Why don’t you tell Peter you’re feeling sick tonight, stay here with me instead?’  
  
Stiles eyes widen, he looks about the room for a moment, taking in the discarded luxury before turning his gaze back to Derek and smiling sweetly. ‘But what would I wear for that?’  
  
‘Nothing’ Derek murmurs as he leans in to press his lips against Stiles’, finally taking what he’s craved for so long. 


End file.
